his lips unnaturally, as he usually did when speaking to buyers and
sellers.

'Really you ought to take him. I beg you in God's name!' his wife
repeated, wrapping her shawl more closely round her head.

'There, she sticks to it like a leech! . . . Where am I to take him?'

'I'm quite ready to go with you, Vasili Andreevich,' said Nikita
cheerfully. 'But they must feed the horses while I am away,' he added,
turning to his master's wife.

'I'll look after them, Nikita dear. I'll tell Simon,' replied the
mistress.

'Well, Vasili Andreevich, am I to come with you?' said Nikita, awaiting
a decision.

'It seems I must humour my old woman. But if you're coming you'd better
put on a warmer cloak,' said Vasili Andreevich, smiling again as he
winked at Nikita's short sheepskin coat, which was torn under the arms
and at the back, was greasy and out of shape, frayed to a fringe round
the skirt, and had endured many things in its lifetime.

'Hey, dear man, come and hold the horse!' shouted Nikita to the cook's
husband, who was still in the yard.

'No, I will myself, I will myself!' shrieked the little boy, pulling his
hands, red with cold, out of his pockets, and seizing the cold leather
reins.